


If you’re looking for the right direction, then darling look for me.

by thecrackshiplollipop



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:12:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrackshiplollipop/pseuds/thecrackshiplollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana never went home to reconcile with Brittany, instead she moves to New York, where she ends up spending most of her time with Rachel (and Kurt) despite not living with them. Feels happen. The events in "I Do" obviously never happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you’re looking for the right direction, then darling look for me.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the wonderful timorous_scribe for beta'ing so quickly.

Rachel's pretty sure that when Santana sends her a text from Grand Central it's not because she cares but because Rachel had not stopped texting her while she was on the train.  
  
But her text back is nice. She's not too sarcastic or short, nothing unexpected at least. So that's a relief. And she promises to call Rachel (and Kurt) when she gets to her apartment in Sunset Park. It’s not their last surprise when Santana does, in fact, call them when she's reached her apartment.

Santana's move to New York wasn’t really that surprising. Rachel figured it was inevitable after their junior year trip to Nationals. She assumed Santana would be trailing behind Brittany, but that she’d end up there nonetheless. She knew Santana would be in her periphery, in the 'bumping into each other at auditions’ kind of way.  
  
She never expected to get phone calls from Santana every single night after she moves into her place. Or for Santana to make the thirty minute subway trek across Brooklyn twice a week to have cheap Thai and watch something from Kurt and Rachel's paltry DVD collection. (She starts bringing Redbox when Rachel convinces her to watch  _Funny Girl_  for the third time. Her emotions are too fragile.)  
  
Kurt is fine with it, really, because he has a boyfriend, a job, and NYADA. It's too stressful for him to think about coming home late and finding takeaway in the fridge and Santana under the blanket with Rachel watching Titanic, a box of tissues between them. It's nice enough that they got him food, even if it's from that one place Kurt and Rachel never go to because it's further away and a little more expensive than the one across the street.  
  
But it's Santana's favourite. According to Rachel. And Kurt can't argue because he never pays and it's ten times better than their usual. He just pours himself some of the chocolate wine Rachel insists on keeping, eats his food, and proceeds to fall asleep in the armchair Santana gave them. (It wouldn't fit in her apartment and it was too nice to return to the consignment store.)  
  
Kurt stops having illusions to why Santana's constantly at his and Rachel's apartment when he comes home late at the beginning of spring break. He expects to find the apartment dark and Rachel in bed, but instead Santana's spooning her on the couch and the DVD menu for  _Love Actually_  is looping on the TV.

He stops coming home on the days Santana comes over after that.  
  
Rachel is just glad to have someone who isn't in constant competition for teacher approval or spots in showcases. She's glad that Santana is there with a new bottle of wine and takeout on Tuesday and Friday. Sometimes she shows up on Saturday to drag Rachel to a bar for dancing and karaoke and they stumble to the apartment at 3AM, stage whispering and trying not to wake up Kurt.  
  
Neither of them would call it friendship, even though Santana stops renting movies from Redbox and just pays for Netflix on their TV. She swears it's easier, cheaper, and the first month is free. Rachel stops caring that Santana shows up unannounced in the middle of the week because sometimes she's crying and sometimes she's drunk. Sometimes it's both. And Rachel never asks why, she's just concerned that Santana will eventually dehydrate and be too weak to make the subway ride to Bushwick.   
  
Rachel doesn't think twice when she calls Santana and sobs over the phone that she thinks she's pregnant.  
  
Santana doesn't think twice before running out of her shift at Panera to be there while Rachel takes a test.  
  
Neither of them think twice before they're hugging, and then kissing, in the bathroom when the test comes up negative.  
  
They wouldn’t call themselves friends, and they wouldn’t really say they’re in a relationship, but Santana's hands are sliding up under Rachel's tank top and neither really cares about the labels. Rachel moans when Santana pinches her nipple and reaches around Santana's waist to tug the stupid Panera apron off of her.  
  
Santana's brain is telling her to back out, because Rachel is just this person she watches movies with and she's been working on things with Brittany. But she's groping Rachel desperately in the darkness of the bathroom and kissing her like they've done this a million times. None of it feels wrong. The heat of arousal between Santana’s legs is growing and the way Rachel whimpers at her touch is all the information Santana needs to know Rachel wants it, too.  
  
Rachel is moaning again, dragging Santana back from the brink of pulling away. Santana swoons at the realisation that Rachel is tugging open the buttons to Santana's uniform top and sliding her hands in over Santana's bra.  
  
" _Oh_ ," Rachel gasps when Santana kisses down her jaw and sucks roughly on her neck.  
  
"I don't want to stop," Santana mumbles against Rachel's skin and bites, not gently, just below her ear.   
  
" _Fuck_ ," Rachel tilts her head back and pushes uselessly at Santana's shirt until she gets the point and drops her hands away from Rachel's chest and takes her top the rest of the way off. "D-don't. _Definitely_ don't."   
  
Santana tries not to rip Rachel's tank top off but she thinks she maybe hears the strap rip when she yanks it up over Rachel's head. It doesn't really matter. She’ll buy her a new tank top. Or twenty, because that one looked better coming off and Santana is down for investing in clothes that look good coming off of someone.  
  
Rachel pulls her out of the bathroom with a needy whine and they're stumbling across the apartment to Rachel's bedroom. It's sunny outside and the apartment feels so much warmer than the dark bathroom. Rachel reaches for Santana's trousers but starts on her own when she realises Santana is already in the process of fumbling hers off.  
  
The bra thing is tricky on another woman, Rachel realises, but when she finally thumbs open the clasp to Santana’s simple cotton bra she doesn’t particularly care because Santana’s tits are there and marvelous. She touches her the same way Santana had in the bathroom and Santana gasps and tilts into Rachel’s hands.  
  
Santana needs Rachel’s underwear off yesterday and Santana only manages to tug at the elastic of them and mumble ‘off’ because Rachel somehow figured out Santana’s weakness is pinching. But Rachel complies with the rough command and Santana only gets a moment to evaluate how very evenly tanned Rachel is before she’s being pushed back onto Rachel’s bed.  
  
Santana is used to being topped, but that was with Brittany and maybe she wants her adult sex life to be different. She thinks about how hot a powerplay would be for all of two seconds before Rachel is crawling over her and straddling her right thigh like it’s nothing. Santana’s whole body turns to fire when she feels how hot and wet Rachel is against her skin and she is exercising an intense amount of willpower when all she does is flex the muscle in her thigh. It’s enough. Rachel’s eyelids flutter closed and she leans down to kiss Santana again.  
  
There are things Rachel always thought she would do, like off-Broadway over the summer and maybe a lesbian fling during sophomore year. She never thought she would be naked and straddling one of Santana's thighs, or kissing down Santana's stomach, or pulling off Santana's plain blue panties.   
The reality is so much better.  
  
Santana practically launches herself off the bed when Rachel kisses lightly up the inside of her thigh. Rachel can see how wet Santana is and feels bad about teasing so she tentatively passes her tongue up Santana's folds and is rewarded when Santana lets out a string of Spanish curses.  
  
Rachel's pretty sure Santana is trying to be gentle, flexing her fingers through the loose strands of Rachel's hair. But Rachel presses the flat of her tongue against Santana's clit and Santana's fingers tighten and tug, pulling Rachel closer.  
  
Rachel isn’t really sure what she’s doing because she’s only ever kissed another girl, but the way Santana gasps her name and rolls her hips in response to Rachel’s slow, deliberate licks is enough encouragement. It’s embarrassing for Santana, how easily she gets to the point where she’s begging Rachel for more, but that feeling dies with a soft cry when Rachel slips a finger inside. Her hips jerk forward at the sensation but Santana knows it’s not enough. Rachel seems to read her mind because she slides a second finger in on the next stroke.  
  
What Rachel lacks in skill, she makes up for in a seemingly innate understanding of how to make Santana’s body burn with pleasure. Her fingers curl and her tongue swipes in a fast, hard circle and Santana barely has time to think before her back is arching and she’s crying out as her muscles clench around Rachel’s fingers.  
  
She wants to reciprocate, really, especially when she sees Rachel suck her fingers clean. But then she feels like she’s going to cry. And then she is crying hot, relieved tears, and all she can do is croak out Rachel’s name and accept the comfort that she offers.  
  
Santana wakes up a few hours later, disoriented, alone, and naked. She feels exhausted and just wants to shut her eyes again, but the memories of however long ago come rushing back in a sickening wave. She’s hit with the realisation that Rachel Berry got her off like she was turning the key in an ignition and then Santana had spent twenty minutes crying soundlessly into Rachel’s hair.   
  
Rachel had never once asked why she was crying. She never did, actually, not when Santana showed up on her doorstep in tears each time Brittany had gone back to Sam. It made Santana angry, and wonder if Rachel even cared.  
  
There’s a dull, aching throb between Santana’s legs that reminds her Rachel cares, even a little. She’s out of the bed and onto wobbly legs, looking for shorts and a t-shirt because she’s pretty sure she hears Kurt’s voice coming from somewhere close by. Maybe on the fire escape. She’s jumping into a pair of Rachel’s booty shorts (which are, sadly, way less bootylicious on her) when she hears Kurt’s voice go up an octave and then Rachel’s shouting over him.  
  
She wants nothing more than to crawl back into Rachel’s bed and sleep until both of them are gone to school in the morning. But then she hears her name, from Kurt she thinks, and it’s sharp and bitter and Santana was always a sucker for drama. She sneaks across the dark apartment to press against the wall next to the window. She only briefly glimpses the back of Kurt’s favourite vest as he’s leaning against the cracked window.  
  
“You’re using her.”  
  
“I am not.” Rachel sounds like she’s crying and Santana feels like a small dark hole opens up in her chest. It’s the wrong kind of drama she wants to eavesdrop on.  
  
“God Rachel, she comes over to support you in your time of need and you end up fucking her. There’s something deeply wrong with that picture.”  
  
“I just-”  
  
“You won’t even call her your friend.” Kurt’s voice is harsh and Santana tries not to bang her head against the wall she’s pressed against.   
  
“We’re not friends,” Rachel chokes out wetly and Santana winces. Maybe she’s never said it outloud, but it’s true and the truth is awfully confusing. “I um. I don’t. We’re just-”  
  
“Oh my god.” There’s a pause and Rachel sniffs. Santana feels that hole filling in with things that she doesn’t want to give name to, yet. “You’re _totally_ falling for her.”   
  
“What? I-”  
  
“No, no, _no_. I totally remember seeing this. But with Finn. And ...less refined. Oh my  _god_.” Kurt actually sounds breathless and Santana feels like she should be going because whatever Rachel’s response is going to be will kill her.  
  
“So what if I am?”  
  
Santana feels the floor float out from underneath her and she tries to make it back to Rachel’s bed without tripping over something or walking into a support beam. She thinks about work in the morning, and about how she’s probably fired because her manager hates people walking out on shift, even if they’re bleeding. She wonders if she’ll have to return the apron and blouse, and then remembers that her clothes are probably strewn around the apartment. She searches around in the orange-grey darkness and when she can’t even find her blouse in the bathroom she realises, with a small thrill of horror, that either Rachel or Kurt had collected and done laundry.  
  
Which means her panties-  
  
 _God_.  
  
So she crawls into Rachel’s bed and waits under the yellow summer quilt that smells like Rachel’s bodywash. It feels like she lies there for hours, until her eyes are heavy with exhaustion and her whole body relaxes into the mattress against her own will.  
  
She’s been asleep for a few hours by the time Rachel crawls into bed, her cheeks still damp with tears and her skin hot from the New York August evening. She curls against Santana’s back, nuzzles the tangled hair at the back of her neck, and sighs.  
  
“I’m _really_ glad you didn’t leave.” She whispers it, because Santana is the lightest sleeper in Brooklyn and the last thing Rachel needs is to explain why her voice is so strained. But Santana stirs regardless and rolls over, touching her forehead to Rachel’s.  
  
“I couldn’t...” Santana mumbles, more asleep than awake, her eyes still shut.  
  
“Your clothes are in the dryer. I thought-”  
  
“S’not why,” she yawns and shifts closer, wrapping her arm around Rachel’s side and pulling her until their bodies are flush and she can feel every inch of Rachel’s warmth against her own. “I love you.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“It’s okay. I just realised it, too.”  
  
“Um. Santana. I-”  
  
“Shh.” Santana’s eyes flicker open and she focuses on Rachel for a second. Her face settles from sleepy into worry, because Rachel looks sad, but then the look softens and she’s pressing a dry kiss to Rachel’s mouth. She settles her hand against the small of Rachel’s back and traces circles against the silk fabric of Rachel’s nightshirt. “Go to sleep.”  
  
“I love you, too,” Rachel whispers, and watches a lazy smile turn the corners of Santana’s mouth up.  
  
“Yeah.” Santana’s lips curve into a smirk. “Save that for the morning.”  
  
“Wh-? Why?” Rachel blinks.  
  
“You can’t declare your undying love without getting some first.” She pulls Rachel close again and nuzzles her neck before kissing there.  
  
“Oh.  _Santana_.”  
  
“Mmhm. Sleep.” Rachel sighs but presses a kiss to Santana’s forehead. The ruined moment is worth the promise that Santana will be there in the morning, and probably many mornings after that.  
  
She falls asleep before she can start thinking of cheap moving companies in the area.


End file.
